


Shared Talents

by Blue_Daisies_In_The_Shadows



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Badass Jaskier, Blood and Gore, Caring Jaskier | Dandelion, Cursed Jaskier | Dandelion, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Backstory, Jaskier | Dandelion Braids Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia's Hair, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, Jaskier | Dandelion Takes Care of Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Uses a Sword, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Jaskier | Dandelion is a Noble, Jaskier | Dandelion suffers for the fandom, M/M, Monsters, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Soul Bond, Soulmates, badass geralt, courts, side characters die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-23 05:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23273005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Daisies_In_The_Shadows/pseuds/Blue_Daisies_In_The_Shadows
Summary: Soulmates share not a name on their wrist or a picture across their skin but their talents.Jaskier has always been able to use a sword, having all the skills of a Witcher without any mutations to make them usable.Geralt has never been interested in finding a Soulmate that he'll be forced to watch die, but he can't escape the knowledge that he has all the skills of a bard.As an ancient curse pushes them together... perhaps the future will be better for it...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 41
Kudos: 584





	1. Bleed Over

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, TRIGGER WARNINGS: Non-graphic implications of attempted violence against women, mild blood and gore, period-typical male preference bullshit in reference to heirs and nobility, implied bad parenting and canon typical prejudice against Witchers  
> If you want a clarification on that before you read for any reason comment and I'll clarify it- most things are implied but I'd really like to not trigger anyone so don't read if you're not comfortable!  
> Otherwise I hope you enjoy the fic! Note that it's not beta read- lemme know of mistakes and I'll fix them!- and will be updated when I have time (how is it that I can't leave the house and I'm still somehow busy?) but I have it mostly planned out. It's also based on the show only cause I haven't read the books yet- I plan to though! (Also any OC that appears is not going to be important and will only exist for a plot point so don't worry if they seem like they'll stick around and that bugs you- they won't.)

Julian Alfred Pankratz was born the first son of an unusual noble family on an otherwise uneventful day. His birth would not have been overly noteworthy, simply another heir of another family- if it hadn’t been for his eyes. It wasn’t overly common for a child to be born with a soul trait, but neither was it uncommon enough to be a concerning trait. It was actually normally seen as a good omen given that a child born with a soul trait likely had a mage of some sort for a soulmate. It was clear from the moment Julian opened his watery eyes- the color yet to have been claimed as his own but already touched by his soulmate. His mother was far from pleased to see the ring of golden-yellow that could only belong to a single being in her son’s eyes.

“A Witcher’s mate.” Lady Lettenhove said tiredly. 

“He can’t be heir.” Her husband sighed. 

“I know.” His wife replied. “But we can have another child. A Witcher’s mate could be more useful in the long run.”

“Are you sure?” Viscount Lettenhove asked.

“It’s tradition after all.” Lady Lettenhove replied. “My sister will take him. We can simply say he was stillborn.”

Her husband nodded agreeably. They both knew traditions would need to be met, but neither had expected to be parted from a child so soon.

-

The Lettenhove family was a cursed family. No one could remember exactly what had caused this misfortune, but it had become a part of their family traditions. A curse so old and so soaked in family blood could not be easily removed after all, or broken at all.

Thus every generation the children of the family were each born with a particular trait. Some were not overly harmful- the heir had a tendency to get off easy. The few times they did not tended to be the most extreme cases in trade. The current lord Lettenhove was not born to the family, but had grown up among them. As the last generation had no male heirs to carry the name the third son of a respectable family that accepted the curse and adored the eldest Lettenhove daughter was a fine pick to lead the family onward. As the heir in age, if not full rights, Lady Lettenhove was not cursed harshly, her unfortunate “gift” was the ability to turn into a wolf- but only when enraged. This had made for a difficult childhood, but had been easy enough to control in adulthood.

Her three younger sisters had also seemed to get off abnormally easy- a concern for the next generation. Lady Lettenhove’s father thought that the light curse of this generation was due to the lack of sons. Her mother knew better.

Lady Lettenhove’s first younger sister was born with the “gift” of rain, a downfall that always followed when she was upset. Her next younger sister was “gifted” with a beastly form when in danger, one she had been grateful for when she was cornered by three men twice her age and awoke the next day unharmed- despite the blood that coated her skin. The youngest Lettenhove sister had what was arguably the cruelest “gift,” adoration. All those who looked upon her could not help but be enchanted. She would never know what actual love or affection felt like, driven made by the constant false emotion she was drenched in the women left her estate on day and never returned. 

These “gifts” were all deemed light, not overly cruel. This was because most Lettenhove children did not have “gifts” with control or only indirect harm. Of the family tree on record only forty percent of Lettenhove children lived past twenty. Only twenty percent to thirty.

The Lettenhove family was cursed.

-

Julian grew up with his aunt Merdicia. She was a harsh women that had no interest in children. Or men. Or women. Or anything really. She had a singular interest in weapons that drove her to be one of the best weapons masters on the entire continent. 

This was not because she could beat a Witcher in a swords duel or out shoot the best of the land’s archers. It was because she could use anything as a weapon and prided herself in her ability to turn any situation to her favor. 

Julian was taught first to use his words as a weapon. If used properly simple words could be more deadly than any dagger or sword and should always be his first weapon of choice.

“Be not afraid to draw blood, Julian, but always remember that red is the color of defeat.” Merdicia would always say.

As a woman who had talked her way out of twenty-six different betrothal contracts, the first at only fourteen, Julian took her words to heart. 

To convince someone to do what you needed- and have them believing it was their idea the entire time? Worth more than any amount of gold.

That wasn’t to say that Julian didn’t know his way around a blade. He had an advantage there, after all.

As the mate of a Witcher, Julian didn’t need to actually learn how to use a sword- he couldn’t in fact. 

Soulmates were not identified by pretty words or differing eyes or shared pictures across their skin. They were connected by the Bleed Over. The shared traits. As Julian’s Witcher was older than him any trait that they had mastered Julian had access to. Any trait that they’d mastered Julian couldn’t master, he already knew it and forcing something else was impossible. The trait was too ingrained, sunk into his very soul.

Julian was an expert swordsmen before he even picked up a sword.

But he struggled to keep up with the motions meant for an adult that would always be stronger and faster than him.

Julian was an expert in monster lore even if he’d never seen the hair of a monster.

But as a child he was terrified by the knowledge that a complete understanding of exactly what his soulmate fought drove into him.

Julian understood all the Witcher’s signs though he’d never seen them used. 

But the endurance and skill needed to properly use them did not accompany the knowledge. 

Julian could shoot a bow and set traps, hunt from the moment he breathed his first breath.

But he struggled to apply this practically, a child’s body not meant to use the heavy bows of a Witcher.

Julian could make every Witcher potion there was, despite never having brewed a single one.

But he would be poisoned if he took a single one.

Julian had many talents, but the pulled him back as much as they pushed him forward.

Merdicia pushed him further, drove him to master everything he could.

Julian hated it.

He wasn’t a Witcher, despite the ring around his otherwise cornflower blue eyes. He wasn’t built to fight monsters, he wasn’t a warrior at heart. He was a poet.

His soulmate could fight for them both. Julian would learn other skills.

He knew Witcher’s were not well liked despite the invaluable work they did and the lives they saved. Julian could help with that. Julian was determined to help with that.

So at age fifteen he ran away from the only home he’d ever known and talked his way into Oxenfurt. 

Curse or not, he was going to be a bard.

-

Geralt knew that Witchers could have soulmates, but he had never desired to meet his. Vesimir had met his, a pretty women with a sharp tongue and a sharper blade. They had been happy, the one thing a Witcher didn’t have to concern himself with was his soulmate hating what they were, but she had been human. The soul link did not take in lifespans when they connected- it was a soul bond after all. The pair of souls fit each other best, not whatever physical form the pair took.

She had died while Vesimir had been away from her little town- a bandit raid of all things. She had took five men down with her and near-single handedly saved the little village, but that hadn’t saved her from an early grave.

Vesimir was never really the same after, becoming reckless until one of his brother, now buried as well, had pushed him back home to teach. 

Geralt had no interest in suffering so, it was better to be like many other Witchers that never met their mates, or never realized they had.

Geralt was fine alone. He had Roach, after all. And money and monsters.

That was all a Witcher needed.

-

Julian, now Jaskier, was happy. Truly happy for perhaps the first time in his life.

His aunt had never been overly cruel, but he was her apprentice before anything else. True, he had about the same status as a student of Oxenfurt, but it didn’t feel that way. He felt free for the first time, free to do what he wanted, be who he wanted.

It was wonderful.

Now if only Valdo Marx would stop being such a damn ass.

-

Geralt had never once tried to look for a Bleed Over skill. He’d actively avoided it. He had his swords, his potions, his horse. 

This did nothing to change the fact that as soon as he heard the bard, a rather attractive young woman, singing her tunes in the tavern he knew that she was… off. He could perfectly describe all the technical reasons that the bard performing was inexperienced and not particularly good.

Geralt should have no idea about any of that.

Yet he suddenly knew more about music and was quite certain he’d be able to sing that song better than the bloody bard if he tried.

A Bleed Over talent.

Fuck.

-

Jaskier was eighteen and he was leaving.

Valdo Marx was an absolute ass and Jaskier was going to murder him one day.

And given that Jaskier still wasn’t quite sure the exact nature of his curse, he figured it would be best before he actually went through with it.

The gal of that bastard! To steal his song? To ruin the name he’d worked so hard for? To destroy his place in the first true home Jaskier had ever found?

Yeah, Jaskier would murder that damn bard one day. He didn’t even deserve the title!

Jaskier was going to make a name for himself on the road. He and his Witcher. They’d be so famous that no one would even remember the bloody name Valdo Marx in comparison to Jaskier and his Witcher!

-

Geralt was returning to the road from Kaer Morhen when it happened. He wasn’t sure what exactly IT was, and wouldn’t find out for quite some time.

He could tell it was important though. A… fundamental shift. 

Something had happened to his soulmate. Geralt could tell his mate was alive, but… alive didn’t mean fine.

For the first time in his life Geralt hoped he’d meet his soulmate.


	2. Bards that can sing, Devils that aren’t and Elves in need of help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt panics, Jaskier is one smart cookie, Geralt panics some more and Jaskier is determined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, as usual, firstly TRIGGER WARNING: Geralt's self deprecating thoughts, people still hate Witchers, basically canon stuff.  
> Otherwise, no beta as usual so lemme know of any mistakes and I've fixed the completion status I fucked up yesterday that a few people noted- thank you to everyone that pointed it out to me!  
> This is a work in progress still, so there will be more chapters to come! Note that this chapter does use a couple of lines that are NOT mine from the show, but given they're rather notable lines you should be able to pick those out. So all credit for those four lines go to the show writers, not me. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy!

Geralt normally avoided bards. This was entirely due to a desire to not stumble upon his soulmate. Recently he had been doing the opposite. Geralt wasn’t stupid. He could put the hints together enough to know that his mate was a bard, likely a young one- which only concerned him more.

A bright, young bard had no business beside a Witcher. They wouldn’t survive the week and Geralt had no desire to bury his soulmate.

Yet… that shift. The cold feeling, the innate knowledge that something had happened to his soulmate. Something far from pleasant. Vesimir’s mate had wielded a sword, a warrior in her own right. Geralt hoped that his bard perhaps had something similar. Thanks to Geralt the soul would be able to defend himself to some degree, but Vesimir had mentioned that his mate had other Bleed Over.

Eyes ringed in gold. Fits of abnormal strength and speed. A Witcher… but not. Vesimir, when particularly drunk, would lament the toll it had taken on her.

Geralt dreaded the thought of torturing his mate with his very existence.

In the end it was the shift, the knowledge that something had happened, that maybe his mate would be safer at Geralt’s side that pushed the man to look at the eyes of every bard he came across.

To search for that gold ring Vesimir had mentioned. Five months of searching had produced nothing. He was not expecting that to change in the tiny town of Posada at The Edge of the World.

At first he actually tried to tune out the bard, a young man singing something inappropriate about creatures that didn’t exist. Singing notably better than many bards Geralt had heard. He would catch his eye before he left, but Geralt was tired and generally annoyed with his last mess of a job. The glares and normal dislike from the people of the town before he’d managed to sit in the corner under his cloak had done nothing to improve his mood.

Thus Geralt was quite surprised when a voice suddenly rang out, talking to him.

“I love how you just sit in the corner and brood.” The bard said, leaning against the pillar nearby.

“I’m here to drink alone.” Geralt replied, surprised that the bard had approached him.

It would make checking his eyes easier at least.

With that thought Geralt looked up at the bard, who had continued to chatter on and then sit across from Geralt.

Gold met gold-blue and Geralt froze, not processing what the bard had said. He thought he replied, something about the creatures not existing and then the bard was thrilled. He recognized the Witcher.

Geralt suddenly wasn’t ready for this. He left a coin on the table and walked outside. A man stopped him, offering coin to kill a “devil.” Geralt took the distraction.

The bard followed. 

-

Jaskier was not pleased. He hated this ridiculous little town, no sense of humor! It seemed like he wasn’t the only one that could do with a change in atmosphere, though. The man in the corner didn’t seem to be any happier to be here, lost in his drink. Well, he was interesting at least- and upon closer look damn attractive.

Too bad the man apparently had no interest in Jaskier’s flirting, BUT it turned out he was a Witcher. Like hell was Jaskier going to let that go!

Not only was this a great source of inspiration, the stories he must have! But it also meant the man might be HIS.

Jaskier would not be letting his maybe-soulmate go that easily!

Apparently Blaviken was a sore subject. Before Jaskier had figured out how to apologize, and even after pissing the man off Geralt hadn’t seriously harmed him, he was hitting the ground hard.

Well, this could go VERY badly then. Jaskier had a moment to hope that his curse didn’t decide now was the time to make a second appearance before he blacked out.

-

Geralt damn near panicked when his soulmate went down, did the fool have no sense of self preservation! Geralt could still hear his even breathing, The bard was fine. 

That meant he had to take care of whatever creature this was before his soulmate ended up in even more trouble. Geralt didn’t even know the young man’s name yet!

That… ended up not going particularly well.

“This is the part where we escape.”

Geralt felt a bit bad about snapping at his mate, but he was on the verge of panic. He couldn’t get his bright soulmate killed the day they met!

He thanked any and every god there was that the elves listened to reason.

Even if Geralt wasn’t quite sure why the king of elves smelt nervous- almost afraid- of a bard who’s only real dangerous skills came from a difficult Bleed Over.

Geralt still handed over the money he’d been given and allowed himself a sigh of relief as he watched his mate cheerfully strum his new lute and begin to compose something.

Respect doesn’t make history… he hoped the elves wouldn’t be too annoyed with his foolish mate.

-

Jaskier had been trained to be observant from damn near the day he was born. He noticed the uncomfortable way the elf king handed over the beautiful lute. He noted Geralt’s dismissal of the behavior. He noticed that Geralt narrowed his eyes just a touch when ever Jaskier hummed out a tune he immediately dismissed as ill fitting.

Jaskier had not been born to be a bard, he had not been trained to wander the world relaying on anyone but himself. He knew that Filavandrel had noticed his curse, noticed that if push came to shove Jaskier would come out on top. Jaskier knew that the elves knew what-who- he was. He smiled sweetly at them and wrote a song painting them as the villains. 

And he stuck by Geralt’s side as the man continued onwards.

It wouldn’t do to leave his soulmate after all.

-

Geralt didn’t comment when the bard followed after him, didn’t push him away when the bard started to help set up camp for the night, didn’t say a word when the bard sat directly beside him as they ate the dinner Geralt had caught, chatting the entire time.

He should say something, confirm to the bard that they were mates, make sure he was okay after the mess today, ask his bloody name!

Geralt didn’t know where to start. Luckily the bard seemed to know.

“I’m Jaskier, by the way.” The bard- Jaskier- smiled over at Geralt. “Figured since I know your name you should know mine.”

“Hmm.” Geralt replied, not sure what to say to that.

“Soulmates should at least know each other’s names after all.” Jaskier grinned.

Geralt nearly chocked on nothing. So the bard had figured it out.

“How could you tell?” Geralt asked slowly.

“Beside those gorgeous eyes you’ve so sweetly shared you mean?” Jaskier grinned brightly, seemingly genuinely happy. “You crinkled your nose up at every terrible tune I came up with today. I may not know much about the mighty Witchers but music theory doesn’t seem like a likely topic you would have much interest in.”

“Witchers know nothing of… music theory.” Geralt agreed. 

He paused, uncertain how to phrase what he wanted- needed- to say.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” Geralt spit out awkwardly.

Jaskier looked confused, turning to face Geralt fully.

“Whatever for?” He asked.

“That… you’re a bard. You shouldn’t be matched with a Witcher. I know the Bleed Over can be… painful.” Geralt looked away, unable to meet his mate’s eyes.

Thus he startled at the gentle touch as Jaskier cupped his face, smiling softly back at Geralt as their eyes met.

“Soulmates are paired for a reason, darling.” Jaskier stated. “I’ve never, ever lamented this pairing. I’m grateful for fate giving me you.”

Jaskier sighed, shifting closer, face lit up gently in the firelight.

“A bard seeking adventure and a warrior with a thousand stories. Is that not a perfect match?” Jaskier asked softly.

Geralt looked into the bright, gentle eyes of his mate and thanked destiny for the first time in his life.

Perhaps it would be worth it, meeting his mate, his he got to spend any amount of time with his beautiful flower.

-

After the heart breaking apologizes from Geralt the night before, Jaskier was determined to prove that Geralt’s ridiculous notions about himself were far, far off base. How a man that gorgeous, that powerful, that amazing could think he was a burden to the cursed bard astounded Jaskier.

And, okay, fine. Maybe Jaskier hadn’t mentioned the cursed bit quite yet, but still.

Geralt was amazing and Jaskier was going to write a thousand songs of Geralt’s glory and make sure every damn person on the continent heard them if that’s what it took. Jaskier would happily sing about his soulmate to the end of his, likely, very long days.

With that thought in mind Jaskier grinned up at his soulmate, the man riding his horse again, and pulled out his lute.

“Where to next soulmate?” Jaskier smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end of what is basically the prologue of this fic. From here it will be going into nearly all non-canon adventures and actually looking at what happened over the god damn 22 years Jaskier traveled to some degree with Geralt. Since Netflix didn't really detail much there I hope you enjoy what I come up with:)


End file.
